Everything else. Once again, the crux of the problem. The coach didn’t like him. Some said the coach saw himself in him, but Chris didn’t buy that, not for a second. The coach might see himself in the face he projected, but not in what existed behind the mask.
Because, in truth, there was nothing else, except the fact that he did the books for a bunch of small businesses in the village, but nobody had actually picked up on that. Unfortunately, as it stood, the spotlight had a nasty tendency to find him. Or, rather more importantly, it had a tendency to find those he cared about. So he played for the cameras sometimes, drawing the glare away from his brother, his roommate—the most private man in hockey—or his sister, like he had been doing the night before. It wasn’t his fault the paparazzo had taken pictures of him dancing along with the crowd when his sister’s quartet started playing a bit of salsa.
“Emerson!”
He shook his head, annoyed that he’d gotten lost in an answer he wasn’t going to give Michaels anyway. Instead, he played it diplomatically. He had no choice. He was only on the team because Arnie Dawes, the owner, liked him. “Sorry, coach.”
Michaels threw his hands out, as if he’d had enough. “Just do me one favor for the rest of the season? Will you?”
He focused on Michaels. “Yes? Absolutely.”
“Stay out of the spotlight. Behave. Take lessons from Semenov…or Miller for fuck’s sake.”
There was only one thing he could say to that. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” And then Coach looked down at his paperwork, signaling the meeting was over. And, as far as Chris was concerned, it couldn’t be too soon.
Chris was so disgusted by the outcome of the meeting with his coach that he headed down to ‘Razor’s Ink.’ He’d taken care of the shop’s accounting issues for the month, didn’t need another tattoo, but he wanted…something. Maybe he’d have Al take out the streaks in his hair to make himself look more presentable for one night.
Thankfully he’d driven to this meeting, so all he had to do was get into his car and drive from Brooklyn into Manhattan and the tiny part of the West Village where the shop was. Yet another village hole-in-the-wall on the outside, but twice the size on the inside. Camouflage.
The group of people assembled in the barber chairs or the waiting area of the shop welcomed him, and the dude with the Mohawk who worked behind the desk immediately changed the flat screen TVs from the sports channels to the music assortment so he didn’t have to hear sports broadcasters talking about the “Quest for the Cup”.
“Well, Christopher,” Al boomed, emerging from the back of the space. He was the shop’s owner, a tattoo artist who had his barber’s license. He was also the prototypical New York punk, a living legend from the time the village was a mess and the Unbearables had just started to make trouble in New York’s downtown scene. His dark eyes never missed a thing and, today, Chris felt those eyes give him the once over. “What the fuck are you doin’ here today? You did the books last week, and you said no more ink.”
Chris grinned in spite of himself, shook his head and held his hands up as if he were surrendering. “I know. I know. No more financials to take care of and no more ink. But…” He gestured towards the top of his head, at the blue tips which stood out against the black of his hair. “Gotta look all penguin-like tonight, and I kinda want to go low key.”
Al raised a bushy eyebrow. “You? Low key?” Al laughed, one of those belly laughs that shook the walls. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me.” But he sighed heavily and gestured towards one of the barber chairs anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Chris shrugged as he sat in the chair and Al’s assistant put the cape on. “Yeah, well. Times change.”
In the mirror Chris watched as Al shook his head, before the man leaned down to look closer at the blue streaks on the tips of his hair. “Nah. People do. They try to hide who they are, but it never works.”
Chris didn’t say anything. Too many thoughts were pouring through his head to even make sense of any of them. “As long as I can stay out of trouble, I’ll be fine.”
Al laughed again. “You? Staying out of trouble? This I gotta see.”
*****
“Mel? Are you listening to me?”
She was listening all right. Melanie Gould, romance writer, public advocate for romance readers everywhere, could probably recite her sister’s cautionary speech by heart at this point. But she loved Emily and understood her concerns. Emily was the official blogger for the New York Empires and she was bringing Mark-Francis Smythe, her boyfriend and the star center of the New Jersey Palisades, to Vegas Night for the first time. She clearly had enough to worry about.
And so instead of taking refuge in sarcasm, Melanie stood up from where she’d been sitting on the living room couch and went over to her sister. “I’ll behave,” she said, putting a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I promise. You have enough to worry about.”
Melanie couldn’t help but notice the grimace that made its way across her sister’s face. The Empires were practically guaranteed to make the playoffs and, according to the most persistent whispers, they could win it all. Other rumors talked about how Smythe was seriously considering crossing the Hudson to join the Empires once his makeshift, one-year deal with the Palisades was done.
Emily nodded, and relaxed her shoulders enough to meet Melanie’s approval. “Thank you,” she said. “See you in three hours?”
Melanie grinned and patted her sister’s shoulder. “Three hours. Right.” And then, before Emily could comment further, Melanie left the room.
Three hours. Three hours in normal people-speak meant literally one hundred and eighty minutes. In Emily-speak, three hours was less than that. Much less. Directly depending on her stress levels. And that was the kind of thing that drove Melanie the craziest.
“Fucking hell, Em,” she shouted in response to the incessant knocking at her bedroom door, trying, yet again, to fasten the clasps of the tiny bra she had to wear with the dress she’d chosen. “Are you kidding? Really?”
“Are you even close to being ready Mel?”
Melanie could tell from the sound of her sister’s voice the three hours they were supposed to devote to getting ready hadn’t done anything to calm Emily down. “I’m on my way,” she said, honestly. “But if you want to come and sit down…”
“In this dress?” her sister wailed from the other side of the door. “You’re kidding me. You’re absolutely fucking kidding me.”
“Come in already,” Melanie insisted. “If you need me to look, I can’t see through the door.”
Seconds later the annoying little bra dangled from her hands, as she watched the spectacle unfolding in front of her. Emily, confined by a slinky, skin-tight dress, entered the room at a speed even a turtle would consider too slow. “You’re kidding, right?”
Emily sighed. “It was so cute, you know?”
“Cute,” Melanie pronounced. “But really dumb.”
“Speaking of dumb,” Emily interjected. “What’s with that thing dangling from your hand?”
“Oh, this?” Melanie looked down at the annoying piece of lingerie. “Having trouble with getting it on.”
“Go without,” Emily pronounced. “Your dress would so work without it.”
Melanie looked down at her dress, its tight bodice and beautiful beadwork, as it lay on the bed. Then she looked down at her chest. “No,” she said, shaking her head sadly. She knew her luck all too well. “Without some kind of protection, the girls’ll find a way to come out to join the party.”
Emily nodded, and Melanie could see the sympathy in her sister’s eyes. “Yeah.”
Then it was her turn to give her sister a critical eye. “So they’re going to put you on a flatbed? Or is Mark going to carry you?”
She was rewarded with Emily’s sudden burst of laughter, followed by a deep breath and a change of expression that reminded Melanie of a fish. “Dear God,” her sister groaned. “Why am I wearing this
dress?”
“Change.” Melanie gestured towards her closet. “And if you don’t have anything else, you can borrow one of mine.” From the look in Emily’s eyes, Melanie knew she’d been had. She shook her head and then glared in her sister’s direction. That was when she noticed Emily hadn’t moved very far from the closet. What Mel had initially deemed movement hampered by the dress, was in fact, deliberate strategy on her sister’s part. “Fine.” she said, a put upon sigh escaping her lips. “Just because I love you, you can borrow a dress. But, Em? Don’t spend that much money on a disaster you know you won’t be able to wear.”
“I love you too, Mel,” Emily replied, grinning happily as she flung open the closet door.
Melanie loved her sister, but there were time she wanted to kill her. She hoped this was not a sign of how the evening was going to go. Because if it was, she wished she could stay at home under the covers.
*****
When he got back from Razor’s, Chris saw that Semenov had already left for the evening, so a last minute pep talk from someone who knew how to stay out of the spotlight wasn’t an option. Instead, he walked into his bedroom and headed to his closet. The tux he’d bought for one of his sister’s benefit concerts but never wore was within easy reach. He put his hand on the hanger and—
His thoughts froze at the sound of the ringing of the phone. He didn’t want to answer, but he had a feeling who might be calling him this evening. He waited, hedging his bets, debating whether he wanted to answer, then deciding he didn’t.
“Hey big bro,” his sister’s voice boomed from out of the answering machine speaker. “Wanted to see how you were doing before the crazy night of…”
Electing to answer the living room phone, as opposed to the one in his room, needing to work off some more nervous energy, he raced down the stairs and reached the land line just in time.
“Kayleigh,” he said, grabbing the receiver and cutting off the ancient answering machine mid-recording. “Hey. How are you?”
“Okay,” his baby sister answered, exhaustion evident in her voice. Playing for the New York Philharmonia was difficult, but his sister was talented and had a kick-ass work ethic. “Busy. Practice then performance on Thursday. Wanted to see how you were doing tonight, y’know.”
He nodded, then started pacing around the living room. “Yeah. Fine. Getting ready.”
“I should probably let you go, but I should also tell you that you’re awesome and you’ll be fine. Leave the assholes out of this and be yourself.” She paused, and he could hear the classical music in the background. “The people who matter will love you for who you are. Ignore the bullshit, Chris. Be yourself.”
“Love you too Kay,” he replied, knowing that his sister meant well. “Don’t work too hard. See you on Sunday?”
“Absolutely. Usual time?”
He nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see him. “Yep. Can’t wait for those popovers.”
“You’ll do fine tonight,” she repeated, and then with a click she was gone, leaving him hoping her nervous phone call wasn’t a sign of disaster to come. Because if it was, he probably should just stay home, despite the fact he’d probably get in more trouble than if he went.
Chapter Two
As the rented town car pulled up to the building where the event was going to take place, Melanie took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be difficult. This was going to be fine. And sure enough, as Emily and M-F got out of the car, the Empire State building could have fallen down behind them and nobody would have noticed her. Which was a relief.
“Having fun yet?”
Melanie grinned at the sight of Arnie Dawes. He was her mother’s childhood friend, yet neither of her parents had decided to support him, his team or Emily this evening. But she didn’t care. Less parents, more fun. “Yes,” she said, letting the older man embrace her. “I am having fun. You must be having a blast.”
Arnie nodded, his eyes gaining a slight but sudden sheen. “All my life I wanted to own a hockey team. And this is their second year.” He smiled, reached for his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “My Jennifer would have been so proud of this….”
She nodded at the mention of his late wife. “Absolutely. She would have loved this.”
“She would have loved it more if you were having fun, Melanie. You were her favorite.”
Melanie couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not inside yet. But I’ll have fun, Uncle Arnie. I promise.”
Satisfied, Arnie nodded. “All right. Now let’s party!”
And with that, she followed the team owner into the building, happily incognito for the first time in her life.
*****
“Christopher!”
The booming voice of the team owner was hard for him to ignore; and why would he? Arnie Dawes was a wonderful man who treated the Empires like gold. Chris had absolutely no illusions that he would be playing in New York if this man hadn’t demanded it. “Mr. Dawes,” he replied, as he headed over to the older gentleman. “Thank you so much for tonight.”
Dawes smirked and patted Chris on the shoulder. “Thank you for bringing your spirit to the team. We wouldn’t be where we are without you.” Then he looked him over once again. “Though I almost didn’t recognize you.”
It was now Chris’s turn to smirk. Dawes noticed the blue streaks enough to miss them? “Formal event, sir,” he replied. “Had to look my best.”
Dawes shook his head. “Let nobody tell you different, kid. You look your best when you’re being yourself.”
He didn’t want to argue with the team owner—he’d be out on his ass if he did that—but he had to at least explain himself. “To be honest, sir,” he said, feeling weary. “Trouble happens when I’m being myself.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Christopher.” Dawes gave him a kindly smile, one that looked as if it was usually reserved for the criminally stupid or insane. “Trouble happens when people don’t think before they react. Trouble happens when people don’t understand.” Dawes paused, and Chris suddenly felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. “And as far as I’m concerned, that is, and can never be your fault. No matter what other people say.”
What the hell was the team owner telling him? Was there trouble brewing in the upper levels of management? Did he want to know? Not really. But he wanted to ask anyway. “No matter who those people are?”
Dawes shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t push it, kid. Just be yourself and everything else will follow.”
Confronted with the obvious support of the team owner, and the genuine pride in the man’s eyes, Chris felt humbled in a way that he hadn’t before. “Thank you for your faith in me, sir. ”
“You deserve it kid.” Another pat on the shoulder from Dawes and then a grin, the moment over. “Come on,” the owner boomed. “Let’s go mingle.”
And on the heels of his team owner, Chris headed into the crowd, ready to enjoy the evening.
*****
The crush of people reminded Melanie of a scene out of one of her books, except the formal attire people wore was a little…different, and the gambling wasn’t done in a ‘hell’, but rather a large, open room covered in marble, luxurious carpeting and beautiful, glittering chandeliers.
The Empires had outdone themselves this year, and the charity they supported would benefit. She had to remember to send the PR people at her publisher a note about partnering with the organization at some point around the release of her new book. She let her thoughts continue to drift, concentrating on the promotional push she’d have to deal with as she headed into the gaming area.
A sudden cool sensation on her back jolted her mind back to reality. She shivered, all the while attempting to reach for the stole she’d worn on top of her cute strapless dress. The problem was that sometime between coming into the ballroom and now, she’d given it to her sister.
“I’m sorry…”
From the pronunciation, the speaker was obviously Canadian and, with a beautifu
l, deep voice like that, had to be male. She turned around to face him. He was tall, which meant she had to look up in order to see his face.
But when she did see his face, she was captured by his smile. It dazzled her and halted the breath in her throat. The sarcastic reply that came to her lips stopped too. She was supposed to be on good behavior, which meant no sarcasm. “It’s fine,” she managed in an attempt to sound graceful.
“Did it spill?” he asked, sounding just a little bit nervous himself. “I mean…”
“No.” She shook her head, and felt her dark hair swirl and settle on her shoulders. “I felt a chill, but not something spilling down my back.”
He nodded, and focused a beautiful pair of grey eyes on her. “Well how about a glass of something warm then? Would that help?”
Why did he offer to get her a drink? Did he want something from her? “You...I mean…” She shook her head again. “Don’t take it personally, I’m just wondering why.”
He smiled, and she liked the dimple his smile revealed. “Consider it chivalry,” he said, complete with a bow. “I’m the reason you’re suddenly freezing. Let me fix the problem.”
She was wary, almost too cynical for her own good, but she wasn’t stupid. Hot guy offers to buy her a drink? Why not? “Fine. Let me run to the bathroom and I’ll meet you back over by the main bar.”
“All right,” he replied. “See you soon?”
“Yes.”
*****
Chris was behaving. Really. Okay. He was trying to. After leaving Mr. Dawes’ company, he’d smiled at tons of fans, said hello to a bunch more, talked to people who were terrified, in awe and somewhere in between the two, helped Miller deal blackjack and shuffled at a poker table, much to the delight of the fans there.
Going All In Page 18